


All I Know Is Where You're Going

by Chash



Series: Lady Knight [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Tortall Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke does her best to warn her mother about her plans to marry Bellamy. Unfortunately, Lady Abigail gets to the front lines before Clarke's letter gets to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Know Is Where You're Going

Lord Marcus has been expecting Lady Abigail of Griffinstone to show up on the front lines since he first heard her daughter was assigned here. In all honesty, if it had been legal for ladies to try for their shields when they were growing up, Marcus suspects she'd be a knight herself.

Instead, her daughter is here fighting and she's at home, probably channeling all her worry about her daughter into running her estate, making everyone else she knows miserable with it. Every letter he receives from her, he expects to hear that she's on her way to the front, and every time he doesn't, it's a relief and a disappointment all at once.

Then, on Clarke's first visit to Arcadia after her trip into Scanra, she hands him a letter and says, "I apologize for what I'm bringing down on you."

He raises his eyebrows. "Considering all that you've brought down on me without warning or apology, I can't imagine what it takes to warrant either."

She's quiet, considerate, and then settles on, "I'm engaged to be married. After the war, of course."

"Congratulations," says Marcus, with more wariness than warmth. He can't imagine she's marrying Sir Nathan or Sir Monty, and he can easily imagine part of the reason she argued so passionately for the young man she wanted to make headman was that he'd earned her regard. He hadn't actually realized she wanted to marry him, but he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Even if she wanted one, he's not sure she could manage a marriage befitting her station. And with so many rumors about her flying around, someone had to hit on something real eventually.

He just wishes it hadn't been this. Not on his watch.

She snorts in a most unladylike manner. "Don't bother. I don't expect you to be happy for me." He opens his mouth to protest, because of course he _is_ happy for her, in a certain sense, and she smiles. "Not in a bad way. But--it's unfair to make you contend with something unrelated to the war. But if I let rumors grow about--" She stands, formal, a soldier again, not a girl talking to a man she's known since childhood. "I know now isn't the ideal time, but this seemed like the best way to deal with an awkward situation. If you have other suggestions, I am of course happy to consider them."

Marcus thinks it over, trying to assess her situation as he would any other knight's, but it's impossible, less because he knows her and more because she's a woman. A man in her place, taking a lover beneath his station, even _marrying_ her, would receive much less scrutiny. And if he didn't marry her, he wouldn't be judged for taking her as a lover and casting her aside. "This will make everyone believe every rumor about you is true," he finally says.

Her smile is wry. "They can't all be true. Some of them contradict each other." But he knows she's thinking about it. She drums her fingers on his desk. "You wouldn't have this conversation with any of the men," she says, as if she's reading his mind. "You wouldn't have to. It's expected for men to take lovers, and none of them would have to bother saying they were planning to marry them, even if they were. But if I'm--I want to marry him. I think it will be worse if I act as if I'm planning to be done with him after the war. The rumors were bad enough before they were true, so even I don't know what's going to happen now that they are, but I'm sorry that it's something you have to deal with."

"I have to deal with," Marcus echoes. As if he's the one inconvenienced by the things she has to put up with. In a way, of course, it's true; once this gets out, he will receive any number of complaints about Clarke's unfitness for duty, how her womanly affection for the man she's planning to wed will keep her from being able to fight and lead.

These were things Marcus himself worried about when she enlisted, but he's come to understand Clarke, as a knight and as a girl of eighteen. He's sure she had no intention of finding a husband when she became a knight, or when she came out here. And she's far more aware of the trials she faces than he is. She's weighed her options and decided this is the best one, and he owes her the courtesy of believing her. He trusts that she's thought this through.

"What are your expectations?" he finally asks.

"I think that my people will be happier with my marrying him," she says. "I've had several warn me about leaving him behind brokenhearted, like nobles do to commoners. And I think--" She pauses. "I'll be honest. I think once my mother realizes I'm serious, she'll do whatever she must to make it a proper marriage. I'm sure there are lands and a title that can be found for him." 

"Ah," says Marcus.

"That's not--I don't care," she says, quick, and he believes her. "But my mother does care, and if it's made--proper, then I think the rumors won't be bad for long. No worse than normal." She lets out a breath. She might have rehearsed this part. "It is not ideal, and it's not how I would have chosen to--the timing is bad, and it's inconvenient. But my mother or my brother will certainly come, and at least they'll be helpful to the war."

Marcus gives her a smile, one of his gentler ones. Most of the time, when she comes to him, she's a warrior. And she's still a warrior now, but she feels like a child too. He knows how to give this advice.

"I agree with your conclusions," he says. "And I think any advice I could give you is--impractical." He gives her half a smile. "I assume you're being as discreet as you can be."

"No," she says, and he chokes on a laugh. "If I were being as discreet as I could be, he'd be sleeping somewhere else. But, honestly, that's a level of discretion I'm just not interested in. I'm a good leader and it doesn't interfere with my ability to be a knight, and if anyone has a problem with it, frankly I probably won't be the one who punches them."

He considers, and then says, "So, I'll expect your mother shortly."

Clarke sighs. "We're already setting up a room for her."

*

Bellamy looks up at the sound of the door, smiles as Clarke drops her bag and collapses next to him without comment.

"So, that went well."

"It did, actually. He didn't tell me he thought I was destroying my life, or order me to break it off. He's sending the letter to my mother and is prepared for her to come down here and tell me that I can't marry you." She rolls over, smiles. "Maybe we should just do it now, before she can stop us."

"You don't want to do that," he says. "Besides, we don't have anyone to marry us. So it wouldn't be official anyway." He tugs her against her side. "How long do you think it will be before she arrives?"

"A month, at least. She'll have to set up management for the fief in her absence. That takes time."

"So I can prepare myself."

She leans up to press her mouth against his. "I love you. I've told my mother I'm going to marry you, and I've told my commanding officer. I'm sure the rumors will get worse soon too, so--really, there's nothing she can do."

"You're really great at making me feel better," he says, dry, and her grin turns wicked.

"I really am," she agrees, fingers sliding down his chest. "I can demonstrate."

He grins back. "Don't you have duties to attend to?"

"They'll keep." Her mouth finds his again. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," he says, and lets her distract him from her mother. It's not as if she's coming _soon_. And it's not as if he can avoid the meeting. Clarke is steadfast in her affections, and he has every intention of staying with her for as long as she'll have him. Meeting her mother is an inevitability, but he doesn't have to think about it _today_.

So, of course, it's less than a week when Lord Marcus's squire arrives, and he brings bad news with him.

"Did something happen to Arcadia?" Clarke asks, frantic. Since they killed Cage and put an end to the killing devices, the war has started to feel winnable, but it's not over yet, and Jasper is riding as if the entire Scanran army is at his back.

"You're going to wish it did," says Jasper. "Lord Marcus sent me with a message for Lady Clarke. Apparently her lady mother was already on her way. She dines tonight with my lord and will stay in Arcadia, and tomorrow she rides to you."

Bellamy's stomach drops, and when he glances at Clarke, she's gone white.

"Lord Marcus thought you would appreciate the warning."

"I do. Although I'm not convinced it's the best use of a squire in wartime."

"He gave me some reports to bring as well," says Jasper. "And I'm to return tomorrow. But without any other helpful information, I thought I'd go find Monty."

"Go ahead," says Clarke. "We can panic just as well without you here."

"Probably better," Bellamy says, and she snorts out a laugh.

At least he can still make her laugh in times of crisis. It's always been one of his particular skills. 

"So, I don't think this is about you."

"No?"

"No, not--if it's about you, it's about rumors that weren't true when she heard them." She pauses. "Well, I assume she heard I was sleeping with a commoner, not that I was in love with one. And I wouldn't have been sleeping with you yet."

He has to smile. "Just in love with me."

"Which is much less exciting, for the rumor mill." 

"But more exciting for me." He considers her. "So, if it's not about me, what's she doing here?"

"Honestly? I think the killing devices were probably all that was keeping her from coming out here to start with."

"She wants to come out here?"

"She _is_ a healer. And she worries about me." She pauses. "I also think part of why she wants to come is is that she's concerned about my virtue."

"Which was gone long before I met you," he teases.

"Long before." 

"So, what's the plan?"

"I wish she'd gotten the letter," Clarke admits. "I'd rather have her come already knowing about you."

"Do you think Lord Marcus will tell her?"

"I wouldn't, if I were him."

"It's going to be that bad?"

"Yes." He makes a face, and she grins. "But not only that. It's not his business to tell my mother about my personal life. I only warned him as a matter of courtesy. It would be odder if he did tell her."

"As always, I don't understand nobles." He sighs. "So, let's forget about my personal life for a minute. I'm the headman. What do you think her coming means for New Hope?"

"If I'm right about her wanting to come because she's concerned about me, then I think it means good things for our community. She'll want to stay here, and you'll get another healer. A good, dedicated one."

"But a noble one. Is she going to be willing to do what has to be done? Is she going to treat the patients she has, or the patients she wants?"

Clarke smiles and kisses his shoulder. "I will make it clear what her duties are, and if she doesn't fulfill them, I will happily tell her to leave. But Monty should be able to handle her."

"So, cautiously optimistic. And personally I'm just--fucked, right?"

"You're not." She grins. "Not in the bad way. I already told her I'm marrying you, even if the letter didn't get to her. We knew this was coming. Just because she'll be here, it doesn't change anything. I'm still marrying you."

"At least there's that." He considers her. "It's going to be bad?"

"Oh, absolutely. But it's going to be survivable."

"If I can live through killing devices, I can live through your mother."

"Exactly. That's the spirit."

*

Clarke and Monty are the welcoming committee for Lady Abigail when she arrives, because Bellamy and Nate claim to have their own duties. It's true, but they're also cowards.

Not that she wants Bellamy to be present for the first meeting. He will have to meet her mother eventually, but it's just as well if he doesn't have to witness her finding out he exists.

The lady dismounts smoothly and pulls Clarke into a hug, and then eyes her critically. "You lost weight."

"Few people gain weight in a refugee camp," she says. "Glad to see you too. This is Sir Monty, he's our healer. I assume you're planning to work with him."

Abigail's eyebrows raise. "Do you?"

"I wasn't sure why else you'd be coming out here. It's not a good place to visit."

She considers, and then glances at Monty. "Sir Monty, was it?"

"Yes, Lady Abigail."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I don't want to keep you from your duties, so you shouldn't feel obligated to stay here to welcome me. But as long as I'm here, I'm happy to give you any assistance I can in the infirmary."

"Thank you, my lady."

Clarke smiles at him. "We'll check in later. Thank you." She turns her attention to her mother again. "I'll show you to your accommodations, and we can talk."

They walk in silence for a minute, then her mother says, "So, Marcus warned you."

"His squire had some important documents to bring us," Clarke says, straight-faced, and her mother huffs out a short laugh.

"Of course he did."

"You'll be staying in here," she says, pushing the door open. "It's still new, I apologize. But you should have known better than to expect luxury."

"I did." She turns to her servants. "Thank you, you may leave us." 

Clarke crosses her arms. "Time for the family discussion?"

"I've found a husband for you," Lady Abigail says, and Clarke chokes.

"Excuse me?"

"I know you believed that once you became a knight you'd never be able to marry, but--"

"That's not what I believed," she snaps. "I don't need you to find me a husband."

"You do. You must have heard the rumors. If this goes on much longer, there won't be a single man of status even willing to consider you. Now, Lord Finn is--"

" _Finn_?" Clarke asks. "You want me to marry _Finn_?"

She doesn't know the young lord particularly well, but she met him at a few midwinters when she was a squire. He was handsome enough, but more directionless and vapid every time she saw him. He had liked her, she supposes, but--he always asked her if she ever wore dresses and danced, and while she has nothing against either, it rankled her.

She's a knight; she wants someone who appreciates that about her, not someone who asks when it will stop.

And she _has him_.

"Not until after the war, of course, but--"

"I already have a husband in mind," Clarke says. "I wrote to inform you, but you must have passed the letter when you rode in."

Her mother stops short. "Don't tell me you'd rather have a marriage of convenience with Sir Nathan. I've heard about his proclivities, but--his family was only recently elevated, Clarke, he's hardly--"

"Not Sir Nathan. An untitled bastard," Clarke says. There's no point in mincing words; Bellamy knows what he is, and Clarke does too. Her mother could find out without much trouble. "The headman of the camp. A tailor by trade, but I hope we'll be able to find something more suitable for him, after the war ends."

"The headman," Lady Abigail repeats. She lets out a harsh noise. "Marcus mentioned him. I take it he knew?"

"I warned him of the contents of the letter. As a courtesy. I thought you might object."

" _Object_? Clarke, just because you were caught doing--whatever reason you have for marrying him, it isn't worth it. If he's trying to coerce you--"

"I love him and I wish to marry him," she says. "That's all. The only reason."

"Love," her mother repeats.

"Yes, love. He's--well, I'm sure there's nothing I can say to convince you this is a good idea, but it's not your decision."

Her mother's jaw ticks. "That's what you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say? You have a potential husband for me, and so do I. I'm not marrying yours, and you can't force me to. So I would suggest instead of thinking of what you have to do to make yourself happy with my choice. Because it is _my_ choice, and I've made it."

"A _refugee_."

"A good man."

"Just because you're a knight doesn't mean--Clarke, you will ruin this family's entire reputation. You will--"

"I am inheriting no lands," she says, even. "Roan will get Griffinstone."

"And what kind of marriage will he make, if you marry--a _bastard tailor_ , Clarke?"

"A bastard tailor." She wets her lips. "I know you're thinking I did this to ruin your life, but I didn't _plan_ on any of this. I wasn't looking for him. I just--found him. And even if I hadn't, I wouldn't ever want to marry some--I'd never make a good marriage."

"There's a good marriage and there's--" She huffs. "A bastard tailor."

"You're free to disown me, if you'd like. Like a gangrenous limb. If you cut me off, maybe others will believe the infection didn't spread. I'll understand."

"You can't be serious."

"I can be, and I am. And, as I said, Bellamy is the headman, so I expect you to respect him for as long as you're here. Whatever your other feelings on my choice of partner, you won't undermine him."

"And does everyone know about your choice of partner?" she asks. "Is it--"

"Many have their suspicions," Clarke admits. "But they had their suspicions long before their suspicions were true. Those in any position to know for sure won't say anything. They know better. And those who aren't sure have always said the only reason I listened to him was his warming my bed." She lets out a breath, resigned, a little guilty. "I _am_ sorry. I know this was never what you wanted for me. But I'm not sorry enough to throw away my happiness."

"Your happiness," her mother repeats. "This boy is your happiness?"

"Not all of it," she says. "I wouldn't give up being a knight for him. But I love him because he wouldn't expect me to. And--" She ducks her head. "Yes. He makes me very happy."

"Of course he makes you happy," she says, harsh. "You're a _lady_ , Clarke. As soon as he realized what he could get from you--"

"That's not what's happening."

"I know you think it's not. Of course you wouldn't. But--Clarke, someone like that could never--"

"So, I can love him, but he can't love me?"

"He's taking advantage of you. It's a good thing I'm here to show you what kind of a person he really is."

"Yes," Clarke agrees, already tired. "I can't wait."

*

Bellamy Blake is in his office, working on figures, completely distracted, so Abby gets to look at him for a minute without his knowing it. She tries to remember what it's like, being eighteen, caught up in possibility. Her husband was a good one, as husbands went. He had treated her kindly, and she'd enjoyed their time together. She'd been sad when he died.

She doesn't think she loved him. It would have been nice, if she had, but she never expected to love her husband. It wasn't a surprise when she didn't.

Bellamy Blake looks like the kind of person an eighteen-year-old girl would fall in love with. And that is what Clarke is. An eighteen-year-old girl who's spent years not indulging in this part of her life, because she's a knight.

Of course someone like him could take advantage of her. He probably took one look at her and came up with his plan.

"Master Blake?"

He looks up, pushes a pair of spectacles that are slipping down his nose back up. He looks confused for a second, but then he seems to realize who she must be and stands hurriedly, drops into a respectable bow.

"My lady. I apologize, I didn't hear you come in."

"Not at all." She makes a show of looking him over again. His clothes are well made, if not expensive, and he has an ink stain on his left sleeve. He looks like he has some Carthaki or Copper Isles blood in him, and even he probably doesn't know where it came from.

A bastard tailor. A refugee. What an opportunity this must be for him.

"Not at all," she says, smooth. "You were busy. I understand."

For another second, he watches her, and then he says, "Clarke thought you'd come see me as soon as she let you go. We went back and forth on whether or not she should be here too, but I guess I convinced her."

"You thought she shouldn't?" she asks, curious.

"I figured you wouldn't mind being impolite to me. My lady," he adds. It doesn't sound as if he's trying to be cute; it sounds like he just forgot.

"She told you to call her Clarke?" she finally asks.

"You're surprised?"

"No." She considers. "How much do you want?"

"I don't know. Clarke told me I should let you buy me off, and then I'd be rich enough that you wouldn't care if she married me, but we decided that probably wouldn't actually work."

"It wouldn't, no."

"If all I wanted was money, I'd be better off marrying her," he points out. 

"Not if I disown her. Which she encouraged me to do."

"She'd still be a knight. Not rich, but she could hope to get rewards for noble deeds. I guess in that case, yeah, I'd be better of taking a payoff and leaving her alone. If I wanted money. But I don't."

"She's not here. You can be honest."

"Honestly? I tried to talk myself out of it. You think I thought there was any chance she would ever agree to marry me? I thought the best I could hope for was her--" He seems to think better of whatever he was going to say. "That she might want to have some fun while she was here. Nobles don't marry people like me, my lady. I know that better than you do."

"So you don't expect her to go through with it?" she asks, curious, and he lets out an indelicate snort.

"I do now. She wouldn't say it if she didn't mean it. She wouldn't have told you if she didn't mean it." He shrugs. "I didn't know there were nobles like Clarke. But you're basically exactly what I expected, so at least there's that."

"What do you want, Master Blake?" she finally asks.

"Just Clarke," he says. "I don't have some secret agenda. I care about your daughter, my lady. And before you tell me that if I care about her, I shouldn't marry her, keep in mind I don't care about her status."

"So you'd let her ruin herself?"

"It's not really my decision. She wants to marry me. It's not up to me to decide she doesn't know her own heart or mind. And, in this case, I feel the same way she does. So tell me, what am I supposed to be doing differently, my lady?"

It should be an easy question to answer, but the answer she has is that he shouldn't be marrying her daughter, and he's already said why he will. If he doesn't love her, then appealing to her well-being won't do any good.

If he does love her, it probably won't either.

"I found a husband for her," she finally says. "A good one. A noble."

"Good for you. What did she say when you told her?"

He clearly already knows the answer, and she has no interest in giving it. "I could come up with a reason to have you executed or banished," she says instead.

"You could," he agrees. "You're a noble, my lady. You could do all kinds of terrible things to me. But I don't think you will."

He's right, but the certainty in his voice irks her. Who is he, to be so confident? "And why is that?"

"Because you love your daughter," he says. "And she'd never forgive you."

Even if he's false, even if he's using Clarke, even if she's ruining her life, Abby knows what he's saying is true. If she were to interfere in such a decisive manner while Clarke still believed he loved her, then it would destroy them. And she doesn't want that.

"No, she won't."

"So whatever you want to do to talk her out of it, I'd keep it non-lethal," he says. "If you'd like to follow me, it's almost dinner time. I can take you to the mess."

She watches him as she walks behind him, the breadth of his shoulders, the confidence of his stride. People stop to ask him questions, and he answers each one. Sometimes, he teases; sometimes, he's serious. Sometimes he starts out amused and realizes the concern is genuine.

All the people who speak to him respect him, in a way that she isn't used to being respected. He's one of them who has done well; they trust him as they can't trust nobles.

It's too easy to imagine her daughter falling in love with him, and unfortunately difficult trying to think of how to talk her out of it.

She has some time.

*

"It could have gone worse," Bellamy says.

Clarke smiles. "You're still alive, that's one thing."

She's lying on her bed, apparently writing a letter, but she puts it aside as he falls down next to her.

In theory, no one knows for certain he spends his every night with her. They've done well maintaining the illusion of, if not propriety, than at least no more impropriety than has always existed between them. He goes to her rooms to speak with her sometimes after dinner, but he always leaves at a respectable hour. They're close; they've been close for a long time.

Plenty of people know there is a passage that connects his room to hers, as well as to Monty's and Nate's. They're for servants to use, in theory, but he's sure everyone who knows of them suspects they're also used for lovers.

But he goes to sleep in his own rooms every night and leaves them every morning, and no one can prove where he spends his nights. It's some small level of discretion.

"She did remind me she could have me killed," he says, and she pales. "I think I talked her out of it, but I'd feel better if you did too."

"Great Mother Goddess," she says, rubbing her face. "She said she'd have you killed?"

"I don't think she'd do it," he says. "Just that she wanted to see what I said."

"What did you say?"

"That you'd never forgive her."

"You're right." She curls into his side, nudges her nose under his jaw, and he closes his eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmurs.

"I know, but you don't have to apologize. It's not your fault you were born rich and titled and privileged and--"

She bites his neck. "Don't be an ass. I meant it."

"I know. I did too." He pauses. "She thought I was--I don't know. Seducing you for your money? It's so stupid."

"It's what nobles always think," she says. "And this isn't--a normal situation. Usually when a noble decides they'll have to marry a commoner, it's because some lord has put a child in a serving maid."

"Plenty of people will just leave the serving maid," he says, mild, and he can feel her tense as she remembers such things aren't theoretical for him.

To his surprise, instead of apologizing, she asks, "Was your father a nobleman?"

"Not as far as I know. Why, would it help?"

She props herself up on his chest, eyes alight with what looks like excitement. "Of course! It doesn't have to be _true_ , Bellamy. It just has to be something my mother can make--" Her cheeks flush. "This is going to sound awful."

"No, I'm curious where you're going with this." His thumb strokes her back. "You've never sounded so excited about my not knowing who my father is."

"I still think my mother is most likely to want to find you a title. That's what happened with Lady Anya's husband. He was a commoner, a friend of theirs, and the king awarded him a title for his service, and the lady married him. You haven't served in any way that would justify a title, but--" She huffs, frustrated. "It's all about appearances. If we suddenly found a noble willing to claim you as his son, everyone would know what happened, but they wouldn't have any excuse to say it. You'd be a decent prospect, on paper. Not a great one," she adds, before he can point it out. "But as a lady knight, I can't expect a great one anyway."

"She said she found someone to marry you."

Honestly, he wasn't worried about the prospect of Clarke's other husband. He knew she wasn't marrying him just because she thought she had no other prospects. But the instant, fierce look of annoyance on her face at the mention of the other man is still hugely satisfying.

"Not a good prospect?" he teases.

"The first time I met him, I was fourteen. I was serving at midwinter, and he flirted with me. No one ever had before, and it was flattering. And he was handsome." She grins. "And every year I saw him, I was a year older, and a year less naive. But he wasn't." She kisses him. "If he didn't try to make me give up my shield, he might have been--fine. I never had high expectations for marriage."

"So, you'll tell your mother that I could be a noble? That's your plan?"

"It's good to keep in mind." She pauses. "Unless you don't want me to. If it would be--if you don't want to make up a father, I understand."

"How does it even work?" he asks. He's staring at the ceiling, trying to decide how he feels about the prospect. He doesn't know a thing about his father, except that he wasn't Tortallan, and he mostly knows that from looking at his own skin.

For all he knows, the man _was_ a foreign noble. He can't prove he wasn't.

"I don't know, I've never worried about it." She reaches down to take his hand, stroking her thumb against his wrist. "Your mother was Tortallan?"

"Yeah. No idea what my father was."

"That makes it even easier. Just--say he was a foreign noble. I'm sure my mother could manage a plausible story. A plausible enough one that--" She worries her lip. "All I want is to marry you and for you to not be miserable about it."

The admission takes him totally by surprise. "Why would _I_ be miserable?"

"Because you'd be my husband, and that doesn't just mean being married to me. It means social obligations and events, being--a part of the nobility. And not a respected part." When he doesn't say anything, she sighs, slumps onto his chest. "If I don't get disowned, you'll either have responsibilities as a noble, or you'll be shut out of them. I don't know which is worse. But something like--being given land and a title, or claiming a noble bloodline. It's enough to force them to act like you belong to your face."

"Not much of an improvement," he says, but--it is. He knows it is. Even if everyone knows it's a lie, it's a lie they have to pretend is true. He kisses her hair. "Marrying a noble sounds so good, until you start trying to do it."

"No, it didn't," she says, fond. "You didn't want to marry a noble. It's just an unfortunate consequence of wanting to marry me."

"True." He tugs the blankets up over them. "Tell your mother whatever you think will help most. If you want to try to pass me off as Carthaki royalty, I don't mind."

"Royalty is too conspicuous. Just nobility."

"You're the expert. Just figure it out in the morning, if you don't mind. Some of us want to get some sleep before we have to deal with your mother again."

"I love you too," she says, pressing her lips against his collarbone.

He has to admit, it's a great comfort.

*

"I can't believe you threatened to have him killed," Clarke says.

Her mother doesn't even look up from her correspondence. Clarke assumes she's writing to Roan, presumably because family can be told about horrible scandals before the general public. She's not sure if Roan has ever sided with her mother instead of her and she doubts he'll start now, but she's not going to be the one to point it out.

"I didn't threaten that. I just mentioned that I could. He's very--disrespectful."

"Well, he's going to be your son. It's not as if Roan respects you either."

"Clarke--"

"What?"

Her mother sighs, rubs her face. "I don't think you've thought this through. I'm sure it all feels very romantic, but romance fades, and once it's gone, you'll realize you're married to a man with no prospects or station, and he's gotten everything while you've lost it."

Clarke pauses, trying to figure out what to say. Her mother is _wrong_ , but Clarke's not sure she can ever understand that. "How long do you think this has been going on?"

"Excuse me?"

"I wrote to you about him. I warned my commanding officer, even knowing that it might make him dismiss me for giving into my feminine weaknesses." She closes her eyes and lets out a breath; she wasn't expecting it to go well. She doesn't care so long as her mother gives up on having her marry someone else and doesn't interfere with her marrying Bellamy. That's all she has to accomplish. "You can't possibly believe I'd go to this much trouble if I wasn't sure. If I hadn't thought it through."

It's Lady Abigail's turn to think, and Clarke lets her. She's not unsympathetic; she's been creating problems for her mother for years, and this is another in a long line of them. She doubtless thought that it wouldn't get any worse than Clarke becoming a knight.

"How long has it been going on, then?"

"I started falling in love with him after a week," Clarke admits. "He wrote me a nine-page letter about how horribly I was mismanaging things."

Her mother can't help a snort. "A romance for the ages."

"My kind of romance." She tucks her hair back. "I didn't plan this. And it--I know it's impossible for it to have nothing to do with you. But I'm not willing to sacrifice my own happiness and future just because he wasn't born with a title."

"That's no small thing, Clarke."

"I'm sure it's a problem that could be surmounted."

Her mother's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh?"

"It's up to you, of course. I thought you might rather try to solve that problem than disown me or deal with his being a bastard. I don't care either way." She considers, but it seems like the right time to add, "He doesn't know a thing about his father. You could try to make one up for him, if you think it would help."

"That was your plan?"

She sighs. "There was no plan. It just happened. And I am sorry that it's something you have to deal with."

There's a long pause, and finally her mother says, "He knows nothing about his father?"

"Only that he wasn't Tortallan."

"If we want him to be nobility, Carthak would be best." She nods, more to herself than to Clarke. "I'm not saying I approve. I want to make sure he is what he says he is, before I do anything that might give him power and influence."

Clarke has to bite back on her own smile; Bellamy wears who he is on his sleeve. Her mother might not like him, but she'll find out soon enough how genuine he is. 

So really, Clarke has already won.

"Of course," she says. "You're welcome to stay for as long as you like."

*

Lady Abigail returns to Arkadia a month after she left, and Lord Marcus will admit he's very happy to see her again. He'd been hoping her disagreement with her daughter would require a good deal of travel, so she'd pass through more often.

"You knew," she says, by way of polite conversation. "About Clarke and Master Blake."

"I knew. It wasn't my place to--"

"To warn me?"

"No." He regards her. "Would that have helped?"

She huffs. "No. But I would have liked to know anyway."

"By all reports, he's a good man. If not a noble one."

"He seems to be. But he's not what I would have chosen for my daughter."

"Is anything in her life what you would have chosen for her?" he asks, and she does laugh at that.

"No, I suppose it isn't. But I hoped her marriage would be--" She swirls her wine in her cup. "In all honesty? I hoped her distaste for marrying Wells was from a preference for women. Then at least when she grew older, I thought I could talk her into a marriage of convenience. I didn't think she was a _romantic_."

"I don't think she is either. But it's very hard to marry someone, when you're in love with someone else. There's a very keen sense of what you're missing out on."

Her eyebrows raise, slow, and he holds her gaze. "Is it?" she asks.

"I never managed it."

"No, you did not." She turns away from him, nods. "I'm going to see if a title can be found for him. He doesn't know his father, which is convenient. I'll try to find some noble who won't mind pretending to have a son."

"So you've given up."

"She said if I made her choose, she'd choose him, and I know it's true. And I have no interest in making her. I tried to convince her brother to reason with her, and he sent his congratulations. So, yes. I have given up."

"I'm glad." For a second, he resists the question, but he can't keep it in for long. "He needs a title?"

"Of course he does. His father would be foreign, so that will be easier. Some Carthaki noble no one has heard of."

"A risk, if anyone looks into it."

"I would be asking first."

"Still, I wouldn't be surprised if you found no takers."

Her expression is somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Thank you, Marcus. I hadn't realized how difficult a position my daughter had put me in. I'm so grateful you're here to remind me."

His own mouth twitches. "That wasn't why I was asking. But if you don't have any luck, I myself have no heir."

He's never seen her look so ruffled. Her jaw actually drops. Lady Abigail has the gift of calm in the face of calamity, a family trait she passed on to her daughter. It always feels like an accomplishment, unsettling her.

"You can't be serious," she finally says.

"There isn't much of a family resemblance, I'll admit. But I believe his mother is dead, and I doubt anyone would have the nerve to tell me I don't know my own son. Even if they think I'm lying, who would possibly accuse me of falsifying my own bastard?"

"I can't let you do that for me."

"I do need an heir."

"I can't ask you to entrust--"

"My estate is small. Much smaller than yours, as you know. It couldn't be any more difficult to manage than the camp, and they've done well with that. Obviously, you should pursue other avenues first, but--failing all else, I am willing to claim him."

She opens and closes her mouth, and finally settles on, "You could just propose to me again, you know. You don't have to go to all this trouble."

He smiles. "Romance is in the air, it would seem."

*

"Am I supposed to feel itchy?" Bellamy grumbles.

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Why would you possibly feel itchy?"

"Nobility itches."

"Do you know, my mother thought you were trying to use me to gain status?"

"I remember. For how long?"

"Less than a week. Your obvious hatred of her convinced her you don't like nobles as a rule."

"Just the bad ones." He sighs, all overblown drama. "I guess it could be worse."

"No, of course not. There's no greater torture than being made heir to a noble house so you can marry the woman you love. Truly, I've never heard anything more awful."

He pauses, and she beams at him. "Well, as long as you understand," he says, and leans down to kiss her. "You don't have to marry me now, by the way. I got what I wanted. I'm done with you."

"Mm," she agrees. "That's a shame. We were just getting to the good part."

"Yeah? What's the good part."

She kisses him. "Just this."

"Huh." He finally lets his own smile come out, bright and huge. "Yeah, you're right. That sounds pretty good." He tugs her close. "I guess I could stick around for a while longer."


End file.
